Toddler rambles through his neighborhood

Whenever he gets the chance, he pulls his mom or me by the hand and heads out the door of our old Hampton home in search of some new adventure.

We started taking these neighborhood jaunts not long after he was born, bundling him up for long stroller rides that introduced him to everything from the downtown carousel and the waterfront crab houses to the Victoria Boulevard historic district's most vibrant displays of autumn foliage.

But now that Owen's 21/2 years old, he's the one that picks our sometimes circuitous path and often unexpected destinations. "This way!" he yells, pointing in the direction he wants to go, then setting off eagerly with his mom and dad in tow for his latest expedition.

That irresistible impulse to step outside and roam is something he gets from both of us. For years before Owen was born, Miriam and I took daily runs or walks through the downtown waterfront and our old streetcar neighborhood, always finding something new to note as we crossed the bridges over the creeks and passed by the ever-changing landscape of trees, gardens and houses.

Even when Miriam was pregnant, we continued our travels for many months, often with Owen kicking inside as if he were running or walking with us. Sometimes he seemed eager — even impatient to go — and he'd give his mom a little poke if we were late setting out or forced to cancel our daily patrol because of work or crummy weather.

Often, he starts out running now, shooting down the sidewalk when he takes the front door — or down the alleyway if we use the back gate. But it usually doesn't take very long before his happy burst of energy and toddler yell of glee jerk to a stop, arrested by the sight of some crawling bug, hopping bird or vivid flower.

"That's a Robin, Mommy!" he'll shout. "That's a worm!"— no matter how many times he's seen these miracles of creation before. And on the days when he rambles to the waterfront, he'll stoop down and peer intently, then rear up, point and say as loudly as he can — "That's a fish!"

More and more in recent weeks, he's stopped and stared at some curious and still indescribable sight, looking up and asking, "What's that?" with the earnest fascination of a very young scholar. "Oh!" he answers when he hears us reply, then he repeats and practices each new discovery with such diligence that — after a very short time — he's mastered a list of backyard birds that includes robin, blue jay, blackbird, woodpecker and cardinal.

In other cases, he makes the identification himself, using some bit of previous knowledge gleaned from his games, DVDs and books, for example, to describe the turreted Victorian homes in our neighborhood as "castles." And every stack of firewood he encounters looks — at least to him — like the hard "jobi wood" celebrated in his Thomas the Tank Engine videos.

Owen's a detail-oriented inspector, too, and he's quick to label the haphazard piles of back alley stuff he sees in our neighbor's yards with an outburst of "What a mess!" Cracks in the sidewalk, flat tires, fallen branches and the like always prompt similar reports of "That's broken!"

Owen recognized the potential danger of passing cars long ago, making his expeditions to such relatively distant sites as a local construction project fairly safe and easy — even when he scoots the entire way on his trike. Two long blocks up and three blocks over he rolls nearly once a week, lured by the small herd of excavators, bull-dozers and front-end loaders that he first saw from our car, then insisting on trekking to after deciding they looked just like some of his favorite Thomas toys.

He always leads the way to a neighbor's sand pile, too, cutting down the alley, crossing a couple of streets and slipping through a hole in the prickly holly hedges.

Clambering to the top, he's the bright-eyed King of the Hill — and his wild yells as he runs down the sides can be heard across the neighborhood. Just ask the dogs that howl when they hear him playing.